Solitude
by Totemdancer
Summary: Box of tissues, may come in handy!
1. Default Chapter

**Solitude **

**Rating: PG-13**

**Disclaimers:** _Sue, me? Sorry the names Karen, not Sue, You got the wrong person ;o)_

**Spoilers:** _Angst, Sorrow, Angst, Desperation, Angst, Heartbreak, Sorry did I mention Angst??_

**Chapter One**

The aged willow creaked gently as the rockers played across the boot-worn floorboards, the pop and hiss of wood logs splitting in the flames in the huge stone fireplace the only other sounds in the room. The old mellow log walls of the cabin absorbed and captured the sound of the outside before it reached the ears of the warm body, wrapped tenderly in a woollen throw, gently lulled to sleep by the rhythmical rocking of the chair.

The light slowly faded through a sky of orange and purple hues. Clouds spread out across the valley wispy and tinted pink in the light. The red and white painted barn was bathed in the early evening light as the mustangs made their way back up the pasture for the shelter of the rocky overhangs. The last song of the birds settling to roost finally stilled in the rapidly cooling mountain air.

The chill in the air was more noticeable tonight, and the leaves on the trees were finally succumbing to the autumn breeze blowing over the mountains. Fiery copper, umber and reds swept down the foothills of the stark granite cliffs, bathing the whole valley in a carpet of fall colours. The grasses of the pastureland yellowed and paled as they started to die back. The odd scattered pine tree stood alone in its greenness, bringing a sharp contrast to the deciduous trees around it. The lake water ruffled in the breeze as a sea eagle soared low across the surface, finally seeking its goal. As it sank, talons first, into the chilled water, there was a flash of silver and pink as the last rays of sunlight lit against the trout's almost translucent scales as it was plucked writhing from its home and carried skywards on silent wings. Water droplets reflected the sunbeams like prisms as the water returned almost immediately back to its ruffled gentle waves, as though nothing had ever been there, as if nothing had ever happened.

But something had happened, the Lake almost mirroring why they were here, why they had chosen to head up into the mountains to try to put behind them the previous weeks of horror and heartache. The sudden kill of the eagle and the way everything returned to normal so quickly was nature's way, but nature's way wasn't working, feelings and emotions that nature hadn't banked on were at work today, and it was going to take time, not nature, to overcome them. 

The drive up into the mountains had been a long silent one, neither of the Jeeps occupants speaking. They were lost in their own worlds, in their own grief. Thoughts and memories spiralled though their minds like the early morning mist, dragging the ghosts of the past into the present. Words that had remained unsaid now raised into their minds unbidden, to torment, to ravage, forever to remain unspoken. The trees grew darker as they travelled onwards, almost merging into a sea of trunks rolling across the tumbled jagged edges of rough-hewn granite stone monoliths. The road cut deep, winding between sheer cliffs of towering granite, the white backdrop, almost blinding. Broken only in places by flashes of cascading water plummeting from the precipice to the earth in a halo of spray and rainbow light. The crystal clear water of the lake shone in the sunlight as the Jeep rounded a corner. It was another world, an oasis in the middle of a granite wilderness. Light blues merging with the deeper azure blues reflected the depths beneath. Along the shoreline, the white hulks of splintered boulders from age old landslides scattered the relentless push of the forest, beating back the trees strangle hold on the realm of the eagle, bear and puma. Stopping in the little town on the shores only to pick up supplies, the occupiers of the Jeep drove onwards, heading towards a goal of their own.

The tyre's ground out a steady beat on the tarmac road as it twisted deeper into the forest and the mountains, which confined it. Growing narrower now, the trees closed in on the road, the sunlight filtering through branches curving overhead.

The tyres crunched off the tarmac as they met the gravel side road and pressed on. The climb was steady and relentless, winding around the side of the steep cliffs, the lake spread out below like a blue blanket, one minute visible shining bright, the next masked by the trees. Finally, the trees overgrew the road, and the track got heavier and heavier. More than once, the Jeep had to be stopped and backed up before taking a different deeply worn rut. Twenty miles seemed like two hundred by the time the ever-tightening hold of the trees slackened and before them lay the lake and the start of a fence line. Old worn fence posts silver with age leant precariously, held in place by the equally silver rails. Rusty and broken barbed wire nestled amongst the wild flowers long since gone to seed. Beyond them, deep rough pastureland spread Northwards as far as the eye could see, and westwards down to the edge of the lake, nestled in the eastern lay of the huge towering granite wall, the valley shimmered in tranquillity and peace, undisturbed for decades in time and space. The Jeep crept slowly along the dirt track to the end of the fence. Turning in, it stopped in front of an old worn gate. Silver grey wood encrusted with lichen balanced precariously on hinges rusted through. Grasses grew up through it, seeking the light from its shade.

Climbing out of the Jeep, he walked over to the gate, slowly running his hand along the top, memories of childhood flooding back to him, memories of a time long past, of a time never to be again. His hand caught on the weather-hewn wood, and he pushed aside the creeper that had grown around the top rail. His fingers meet the old wood nameplate, now broken and hanging in two. A smile slowly spread across his lips as he pulled the two pieces up and together and ran his thumb fondly over the deeply cut word, so old yet still so clear in the aged wood. His lips moved as he read it: "Solitude"

Lifting the gate, he managed to pull it free of the grasses and tangle of wild flowers that had held it firmly seated in place for decades. Stumbling through the deep grass clumps, he half dragged, half lifted the gate open. Hinges rusted through with time finally gave way, and the gate fell back into the overgrowth. Staring down the long track in front of him, waist high in a haphazard tumble of neglect, he sighed, the sadness reflected in eyes bluer than the lake shimmering in the autumn evening light. From his vantagepoint, he could see the whole valley laid out before him. He drank in the images surrounding him. The cabin still lay out of sight, tucked into a cleft in the cliffs about a mile or so further on, hidden now by the trees that had grown thick and heavy over the sides of the pasture, gradually reclaiming the land that had been taken from them when the old homestead had been alive and new.

Climbing back into the jeep, he looked over at where she sat, her golden hair tousled around her, no longer sleek and beautiful but lank and uncared for. He shivered at how her clothes hung from a frame once perfect, now wasting away, her eyes, greyer now, staring into nothingness, glazed and unseeing. He had no idea if he could reach her, no thoughts on how he could help her from her misery and suffering. He was barely dealing with his own, but he knew he had to try; he would never forgive himself if he didn't try. Throwing the Jeep into drive, he forced it up the overgrown track towards his goal. The grasses flattened under the off road tyres as he fought to control the wheels, jumping on every tussock, then bumping off. Finally, he reached the turn in the road, the fenceline just barely visible above the brush growing wild. Swinging the jeep round, he saw the cabin sat nestled into its shrouding blanket of rock and steadily cut a swathe to the barren bedrock it stood on.

It had been over almost 40 years since he'd last seen his grandmother's house, her dream that she'd given up everything to live. The cabin had stood solid against the ravages of time and weather, the big oak trunks faded to the same silvery grey of the fences. The shameful neglect cut through him as he stepped down from the jeep and tentatively tried the steps. They were old but, like the rest of the house, sound. The house had been built to last. Sheltered from the worst of the weather by the granite bluff, it still managed to command the most amazing views from the front porch, across the land that his grandmother had lived and died for.

Over the years, his memories of the place had dimmed, but now they shone bright as he reached out and opened the external shutters on the front window, moving along until he had opened them all, allowing the evening light to spill inside. He hesitated as he reached the front doors. The big half glazed doors with their diamond cut pattern threw him back in time, and the hand that reached out and turned the door knob was once again a small 8-year-old boy's, not a middle-aged man's.

The door opened smoothly on ancient hinges. The dust swept backwards across the floor in an arch as he stepped into the room, the fast fading sunlight reflecting off it as it rose and settled in the stirred air. Stepping sideways, his right hand instinctively reached out and ran along the now dustsheet encased edge of his grandmother's desk as he lowered his eyes to the floor. The sigh that escaped him was heart wrenching.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Outside on the front porch, he could hear the steady rocking of the chair against the floor. It had slowed now, and he knew she was finally falling asleep. Every so often, the sound would die away as she dozed and then start up again abruptly as she tried to stay awake. He knew the nightmares would take over when she finally succumbed to the sleep that her body and mind craved. Hopefully, she would be able to get a few hours first. He sat perched on the edge of the swing seat, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together in front of him. He sat looking down at them, trying to come to terms with what was happening to her, trying to understand how she felt, but he knew he could never feel the loss and heartache like she was. Liquid blue eyes glazed with tears darted from his hands to the floor and back up before finally he slowly pulled himself upright as the sound of the rocking ceased. From his position, he could see over the smooth, hand-worn porch rail and down over the pasture. The sun was setting low over the mountains that encircled the lake, and the secluded valley was tinged in a subdued pink light. If she could find peace anywhere, it was here.

Taking in the inside of the cabin for the first time in so many years and drawing on the memories of summers spent there as a child, he walked quickly through the room, carefully pulling aged and yellowed dust sheets off the furniture, sending even more dust into the air. He sneezed violently and threw the dustsheets outside onto the porch, trying to keep them tightly closed. Hands now callused and hard swept over the antique oak furniture, the large dresser against the wall by the fireplace still holding onto its treasures of ornaments and curios that his grandmother had so lovingly collected. Opening the leaded glass door, he gently lifted out a tiny china bluebird and slowly rolled it over in his hands, smiling sadly to himself. He carefully replaced it in the void it had left in the accumulation of residues on the shelf. Walking through the kitchen, he had to struggle to open the back door, finally putting his shoulder to it. It grated across the outside back porch as it gave in and grudgingly opened. A huge pile of logs lay stacked under the shelter, and he collected enough to light the fire and the big old cast stove in the kitchen. He would have to clean it before he attempted to cook anything on it. The years of grime and deposits clung to the black iron like limpets turning the once gleaming range a dull shade of grey. The granite counter top rough hewn from the rock outside still sparkled through the build up of the years. Everywhere he looked, the dirt of ages had settled and made itself at home. He was glad he had picked up cleaning materials at the store back in town.

Opening the dampers, he carefully checked the chimney before lighting the fire. Thankfully, both chimneystacks were clear, and he realised they had been capped with cowls to prevent debris falling in at some point in the past. Piling the logs in the big open fireplace, he stoked the flames until they engulfed the old dry wood.

Somewhere deep in her clouded mind, she registered hands slipped carefully around her fragile body as she was tenderly lifted from the jeep. The words of love so sincerely whispered in her ear as she was borne carefully into the cabin spiralled in the fog that had descended in her mind. They tumbled and rolled with the emotions that had broken her once-carefree spirit. She could feel the warmth from the flames in a body turned cold from lack of sleep and nourishment. She felt the blanket wrapped with care around her after she had been placed in the rocking chair. Her mind struggled to overcome the pain, the guilt, and the soul-deep sense of loss. No one could understand how she felt. The guilt that she could not share ripped through her slowly, eating away at her from the inside.

She felt a head resting upon her knee, hands holding hers, as words spoken quietly in the stillness fought to soothe her. She felt fingers moving so slowly in circles on her hands, held firm within a strong grasp, the words so full of compassion and honesty falling freely from lips she could not see. And then they were gone, swept away deep into the recesses of her mind. Her eyes were heavy and bloodshot from lack of sleep, deep and sunken, with black shadows clinging to the undersides, red and swollen from tears that refused to fall.

The chair rocking rhythmically beneath her, lulling heavy eyelids to close. She fought hard to keep her eyes open, but the blackness of sleep closed around her as the warmth and motion dragged her into its cocoon. The weight lifted from her lap and her hands, were carefully tucked underneath the blanket. A shadow moved away and back through the open door, and she followed it through tired, sad eyes. She knew he was hurting; she knew he was as devastated as she. Yet, she couldn't fight it. The misery was soul-consuming, eating away at her. The pain she felt, the guilt, it was all her fault. She had caused it, and there was no way on this earth she could forgive herself.

Every so often, her mind fired with images of days past, reflections of emotions torn and thrown into the whirlwind that swirled around her consciousness. The tears had ceased to flow days ago, and the nightmares were getting worse. She didn't want to sleep. She couldn't face the images, the memories that would come when she did. Her heart had been torn viciously from her body; her soul clung to the remains of a now empty, desperate shell. Finally, the darkness spread slowly to the centre of her vision, and she slept.

He smoothed his hands down the front of his jeans as he stood. Pulling his jacket tightly around himself, he stepped forward and leaned on the rail, taking in the view before him. The trees by the lake suddenly caught his eye as the wind that avalanched down the mountainside and across the pasture stripped leaves like confetti. The chill on the wind made him shiver and brought with it the promise of an early winter. If the weather turned, they would be stuck here, cut off from civilisation, possibly for months. He shrugged the thought from his mind as the sun finally disappeared, and darkness spread its fingers across the valley basin behind him as he quietly entered the cabin. Closing the door softly so as not to disturb her, he walked on silent feet and knelt on the ancient stone slabs of the hearth, stoking the flames, encouraging them to consume the new log he so carefully placed on top of the dying embers.

Wanting to move her to the bed, where she would be more comfortable, he hesitated when she shifted as he attempted to lift her. She was sleeping peacefully for now, and loathe to disturb the sleep she so badly needed, he backed up. Letting her rest, he slowly moved away and sank into the lumpy cushions of the sofa, the covers worn and threadbare from the ravages of time. He pulled a throw over himself and curled up to sleep whilst she did.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

The big, old watering can rose of the showerhead spewed hot water in torrents over his body, spray pounding his face as he rolled his head from side to side, trying to wash away the fatigue that was slowly creeping over him. The stress and strains of the past weeks had taken their toll. He couldn't find the time to deal with his own pain; another was too much in need for him to do that. The shower was a relief in a way, the water cleansing and purifying, stripping regrets and sadness with it. He knew the pain would never go away, but with time, he would heal. The ache in his muscles eased slightly as, turning slowly around in the deluge, he ran his hands roughly up over his face and through his hair, now a brighter shade of red in the water. He scraped it backward out of his eyes, and leaning back, he rested his head against the wall as the water ran in cascades down his chest, falling freely over his stomach and, like mercury, merging into rivulets to spiral inwards and down his legs. The water swirled like a maelstrom around the bottom of the tub before being sucked away through the drain.

Steam colliding with the cold glass panes of the small wooden window condensed and ran down the frame as the small room fought to keep the heat within its boundaries. The wood walls shimmered in the glow of the dim yellowed bulb as the moisture settled and glazed them. Pushing back the musty, moth-eaten shower curtain, he stepped tentatively onto the now-slippery slate floor. Reaching for his bag, he pulled out a towel and rubbed his hair until it stopped dripping down his neck. Wrapping the now sodden-towel around his hips, he tucked it in. Water ran slowly from still-wet shoulders, moving slowly down the indentations either side of his spine. The hairs on his arms and legs, still dark with moisture, clung to taunt muscles as he moved a little more smoothly now and leaned over the old basin. Wiping the mirror with his hand, he leaned forward and looked at a face changed and aged with the grief of the past weeks. New lines crept steadily from the corners of his liquid blue eyes. A sadness that he always carried there cut deeper now. He looked gaunt and tired. He knew he had lost weight; his face showed that first; it always did. The old faded mirror was gentle on him, though, fogging faster than he could keep it clear. Running a hand over the stubble on his face, he decided against trying to shave. Walking on bare feet, he opened the door and moved silently through into the bedroom.

Her cries shook him from his own fitful sleep, and he scrambled groggy-eyed from the warmth of the throw, the room suprisingly bright in the depth of night. The fire's low glow casting long shadows on the old walls guided him to where she tossed and turned in her sleep. She wasn't awake, and he was worried in case he startled her. Tears poured from tightly-closed eyes as her nightmare gripped her, and she struggled to get out of the wrappings that confined her limbs.

Carefully, he reached out to her, comforting her with his touch, soothing the damp locks of hair from her burning forehead. Pulling her towards him, he lifted her gently, talking constantly to her, not caring what he said as long as she could hear him. He knew most of his words were lost on her, but he kept trying, struggling to reach her. Holding her body close, he carried her into the bedroom and settled her on the bed. Laying her down on the soft bare mattress, he curled himself around her, holding on, never wanting to let go. He hung on. She was the only thing that kept him going; she needed him, and he had to be strong for her. Slowly, she settled under his touch; he took heart that when she was asleep, he could reach her. His voice and his hands reached through into her subconscious, giving him hope.

The snow had fallen, softly, quietly in the night, laying a blanket of white as far as the eye could see. The clouds in the morning sky still tinged yellow with the burden that they needed to expel before they could move on. They sank down low over the mountains, straining to shed the weight that stopped them clearing the range. Trapped between the valley walls, ensnared, they circled fluidly like a penned wild cat, blocking out the sun and rapidly draining the last heat stored in the ground from the long, hot, dry summer past. The icy wind that had so quickly brought the snow to bare whipped around the granite walls, whirling and moaning as it spread its frozen clutches across the land. Heavy-laden branches drooped low under the white, endlessly-growing weight, every so often a crack ripped, and echoed in the air as a branch gave out under its overwhelming stress.

She sat curled up in the bedroom window seat, snuggled deep within the confines of several layers of blankets and encased within the deep velvet cushions. Staring outside, her eyes unfocused as the snow built up. Snowflakes swirled and drifted on eddies of wind that whirled like mini snowstorms across the yard outside. Every so often, the wind picked up the softly-spread top layer of flakes and drove them against the already heavily-laden barn. Its roof sagging slightly, it groaned and strained to remain whole. The mug of steaming coffee releasing its aroma beneath her nose finally tempted her to drink it. Grasping it between both hands, she sipped it slowly, feeling the warmth spread through her, driving away the cold that threatened to seep through the old window and engulf her.

He watched her from the bathroom doorway, taking in every nuance of her, his eyes moving from her eyes to her lips as they lightly sipped from the steel mug, her eyelashes fluttering as her lids closed against the steam rising from the cup every time it met her lips. He normally loved to watch her drink coffee as she savoured every drop. Now, he was just thankful that she was drinking anything.

He had not slept after he had woken with her in the night; he had seen the snow, and he was worried. He hadn't been able to sleep again and had settled himself to cleaning the house. It took his mind off his own misery as he was catapulted back to his childhood as he sifted endlessly through his grandmother's world, carefully dusting and replacing her treasures and revelling in happy memories, memories and feelings that had stood like the foundations of the building that they were now in, strong and firm against the tests of time.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

The old rifle sat easily within his hands, comfortable and sturdy, something solid in what was now a situation fast getting out of control. The snow had fallen heavy and thick again overnight. It had fallen relentlessly now for almost a week, cutting them off from civilisation. The autumn had fast become winter, their provisions running out and no hope of making it down the mountainside road into town. He had managed to clean the weapon and make it safe, but now he lay in a covert deep in the woods, waiting patiently, silently, barely moving a muscle. His legs had long since grown numb, and his feet ached from the cold, but they had to eat,and he would lie there until they had food. All day if he had to. Behind him, footprints etched deeply through the snow were filling up as new flakes fluttered down from the heavens. The wax jacket he wore, covered and camouflaged now by the snow, somewhat insulated him against the cold. He was worried, the lines etched deep into his face, and he wanted desperately to get back to the cabin, to make sure she was alright. He had made a breakthrough when she had asked him about the bluebird. She had caught him rolling it around in his hand. He had told her how his grandmother had treasured it as a present from his grandfather. He couldn't bring himself to tell her why, but she had spoken for the first time since they had arrived, and his heart had leapt. Then he saw it --a lone rabbit hopping slowly through the snow not ten metres away. In a heartbeat it lay dead, and they would eat well tonight at least.

She sat watching the snow fall, as she had done everyday, snowflakes dancing and swirling like memories as they settled softly on the deep layers put down over the past days. Like the images fleeting in out of her vision, they fluttered now rather than fell; the clouds above, almost empty of their burden, had started to thin and spread across the sky, like her guilt that was slowly dispersing. Rising higher, some escaped the valley's grip and, carried on strong winds, finally cleared the high ridges and vanished from this place that had entrapped them. Her anger and rage had slowly subsided as she sat watching. Here there was peace locked away in an isolated world, where sorrow was the lone cry of a wolf seeking its pack, and death was brought about purely for survival.

The pain she knew would never ease, but the love she felt within the old walls was as solid as they were. The tiny ornament moved smoothly between her hands, fingers feeling every aspect, every intricate detail, the glaze as smooth as glass, polished by hands that had for so many years done exactly the same as she was now. She knew in time she would heal, but she would never forget. Suddenly, seeing clearly through the storm in her mind, she jumped from her seat, snatching up the rifle from its restingplace against the fireplace. Throwing her blankets onto the floor, she ran out of the door and into the snow.

Sitting outside on the back porch, he worked the knife, slowly peeling skin and fur from the flesh, every so often skewering the dark red meat with the tip, and easing a lead pellet from the carcass. He had watched as a child as his grandmother did the same thing countless times. Now, mimicking her actions, he skinned the rabbit carefully and prepared it for the pot slowly simmering on the stove inside. His mind wandered slowly back to the previous week's events, trying to make sense of what had happened, trying to pull together some form of reasoning in his mind. He could find none. He could grasp no understanding of how anyone could take the life of a child, how someone could harm something so young, so defenceless.

He knew the external scars would heal; it was the inner scars that he could feel spreading through him that he couldn't bear. He cast them from his mind; he would deal with his own feelings later. He had to help her come to terms with hers. He was thankful, at least, that she didn't blame him. That he could never have lived with. He had survived; their child had not.

Slowly, he rubbed his aching shoulder. The cold of the snow had seeped through to his very bone, the pains spreading like icy fingers through the barely-healed wound. Slowly, he raised his eyes upwards and sighed. Feeling the need to get warm now more than ever, he made his way back inside. Placing the rabbit on the side, he walked through to the bedroom stripping off his wet clothes on the way, only to find a heap of blankets and a cold, empty seat. Nestled in the middle of the deep velvet cushions, placed with care was the tiny bluebird.

He ran, his feet cutting through the snow, frantically pushing bare branches out of his path and grabbing hold of trees to help pull him up the gully. He could see her footprints in the soft, deep snow. Following them, he scrambled, falling more than once. He didn't feel the cold from the snow slowly drenching his jeans. He didn't feel the cuts ripping deep into his hands as the jagged, icy bark of the trees gripped his flesh. His shirt, thrown on in haste andleft unbuttoned, snagged and tore as he ran through the dense brush to reach the clearing ahead. All he knew was he had to get to her, had to reach her. He had to.

He could see the clearing now, could feel the blood pounding through his body, adrenaline willing him on. His breath coming in gasps from the climb, the air sucked frantically into panicking lungs as he struggled to reach her. Every step he made sank deep into the snow, slowing him down.

The sharp resonance sliced the silence like a razor blade. In the now-still afternoon air it hung for a split second before echoing off the valley walls, building in depth before fading slowly back to stillness. Birds flew, screeching their warnings, skywards from their roosts at its onset. A group of startled deer bolted from the cover of a thicket, fleeing terrified, their white tails bobbing in distress, as the sound of death rang out across this place of isolated wilderness, across the land that had over the years brought solitude to those that needed it most.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Blind panic struck him; then, he pushed harder, his feet stumbling and tripping as he struggled to reach the clearing just ahead of him. He found her there, her back towards him, her head bowed forwards, long blonde tresses falling loosely about her shoulders, reflecting the soft light that dappled them golden. She was kneeling, her feet tucked under her, arms hanging loosely at her sides, and the rifle sunk in the snow next to her.

He could see blood splattered across pure white snow, and her name stuck fast in his throat, his mouth dry, lungs about to burst, heart pounding so hard he couldn't breathe. He couldn't see straight. Frantically, his brain processed the scene laid out before him, and in a heartbeat, he realised all was not as it seemed. He shook as he heard his name whispered low and pleading, begging for his help. He reached out terrified with shaking hands, cut and torn from the rough bark of the trees he had grabbed in his mad flight up the side of the gully. As he crouched next to her, his eyes finally saw what hers saw. The old grey mare lay dead in the snow, her leg horribly twisted and broken, bone gleaming white against torn and ripped flesh and muscle, a single shot to the head the source of the blood steaming and melting the snow where it had sprayed from the impact. The relief hit him like a tidal wave. His hands shook uncontrollably as he grabbed her and hung on, his eyes blinded now with tears of relief, the adrenaline fading slowly from his system, leaving him feeling sick and wobbly. Scared was an understatement; he was terrified. He thought he had lost her, thought she had snapped like the tree branches bowing under the merciless weight cast down upon them.

The old wool rug, tattered and slightly moth eaten lay spread out over the flat-topped rock. Offering them some protection from the cold, that seeped upwards from the ancient landscape. Sitting looking out from their vantagepoint high on the bluff, the cabin nestled below, the whole valley spread out before them. A wicker picnic basket covered with a red and white checked linen towel sat on the ground, just off to the side. Mischievous blue eyes, kept wandering to the cover, tempted by what they knew lay beneath. A cursory tilt of the head and a knowing look from his grandmother, enough to make them dart back out to the valley spread before them like a watercolour. Off in the distance, sharp blue eyes could see the wild mustangs, tempted by the lush green pasture to move closer to the fenced paddock where his grandmother's horses grazed.

The mustangs slowly made their way up to the shelter of the old barn. She watched them, followed their struggling motions, gazing from one to the other as her eyes tracked their path to shelter. Their rangy forms and square heads intrigued her, coats not yet grown thick against the winter cold, the strength and beauty in the wiry frames that struggled up the pasture plain to see. Snow settled and froze against chests that battled the wind. Their lives were so easy yet now so difficult, drifting from one place to another purely to survive, seeking nourishment and water. She watched them, mesmerised by the variety of colour and form. Occasionally, she picked out one more refined than the others, one with blood that flowed faster and hotter than the others. Then she saw him, standing majestic and proud surveying his harem, protecting and ever watchful. Bright chestnut gleamed startlingly against the white snow. Suddenly, he broke his stance, and he cantered across to the mares lagging behind and ushered them on faster with an outstretched neck and teeth snaking out to deliver a fast nip to the hindquarters.

A smile rose slowly in the corners of her mouth when she saw the foal, born late, its spindly legs struggling ungainly against the deep snow, growing fast and strong on its mothers milk. If only she hadn't forgotten the milk, he would never have had to go back to the grocery store. She saw the foal stop and turn, waiting. The stallion saw him, too, standing lost and alone, so fragile yet so much spirit, calling softly through flared nostrils. Slowly, the wind eased, the snow stopped swirling for a few seconds, and the old grey mare came into view, struggling desperately through the snow. One foreleg hanging useless as she valiantly struggled to reach the foal waiting patiently and the sanctuary of the shelter. The foal, wouldn't make it, she knew that. If its mother hadn't broken her leg, maybe it would have had a chance.

Maybe their child would have made it, too. If only she had taken the time to write a list, to look in the refrigerator. If only he hadn't insisted on taking the fractious infant with him, to calm her.

If he had left her in the car, safe in her baby seat. If she hadn't been so tired and had gone with them both. If it had been him and not her…

So many ifs, so many different scenarios. What if their paths had already been laid, what if the fates really did hold life in their hands.  
One thing she did know: She could save one life today, even though that would mean taking another.


End file.
